“Then you were uncivil without meaning it,” said Harry, sharply.
Graeme was silent a moment.
“I do not choose to answer a charge like that,” said she. “I beg your pardon, Graeme, but—”
“Harry, hush! I will not listen to you.”
They did not speak again till they reached home. Then Graeme said,—
“I must say something to you, Harry. Let us walk on a little. It is not late. Harry, what is the trouble between you and Rose?”
“Trouble!” repeated Harry, in amazement. “Do you mean because she fancied herself left alone this afternoon?”
“Of course I do not mean that. But more than once lately you have spoken to each other as though you were alluding to something of which I am ignorant—something that must have happened when you were away from home—at the West, I mean—something which I have not been told.”
“Graeme, I don’t understand what you mean. What could possibly have happened which has been concealed from you? Why don’t you ask Rose?”
“Because I have not hitherto thought it necessary to ask any one, and now I prefer to ask you. Harry, dear, I don’t think it is anything very serious. Don’t be impatient with me.”